“I say, Hurry, my boy,” he began; “do you know what they talk of doing with your old galleon?”
“Send her to sea at once, before her repairs are finished,” I answered. “It’s the way they too often do things.”
“Not a bit of it,” he replied. “They say that she is not fit to go to sea, so they propose transferring her cargo to the old ‘Leviathan,’ which to my certain knowledge is very much out of repair, and sending her home with it.”
“Some abominable job!” I exclaimed, stamping with rage. “It’s too bad, after all I have gone through, to deprive me of the credit I ought to have gained. I won’t believe it.”
I soon found, however, that O’Driscoll’s account was too true. A survey was held on the Saint Domingo, and she was condemned as unfit to proceed on her voyage to England. Her cargo, consisting of twelve hundred and thirty-two saroons of indigo, and a large quantity of sarsaparilla and hides, was put on board HMS Leviathan, and her captain was to have three thousand pounds freight. I protested as loudly as I could against this decision. I asserted that the Saint Domingo was far more calculated to take home so valuable and bulky a cargo than the Leviathan, or any other man-of-war, and I undertook, with twenty of my people, who had been in her already for three months, to carry her across the Atlantic in safety. All I could say was of no avail. Not only I, but many other officers said the same thing. The affair was decided against us, and I saw, with no small regret, the whole of the Saint Domingo’s cargo transferred to the rotten old Leviathan.
On the 16th of January, 1780, having given up the hull of the Saint Domingo to our agent at Jamaica, I joined the Charon, with my two followers, for the first time since my appointment to her. On the next day we sailed from Port Royal, in company with his Majesty’s ships Ruby, Lyon, Bristol, Leviathan, Salisbury, James, Resource, Lowestoffe, Pallas, Galatrea, Delight, and about ninety sail of merchant vessels. Except the capture of a Spanish privateer, and a vessel laden with mahogany, nothing particular occurred till the 9th of February, in latitude 29 degrees north, and longitude 72 degrees west, when the admiral and his squadron put about to return to Jamaica, leaving us and the Leviathan in charge of the convoy, to pursue our way to England.
We had hard work enough in keeping our convoy together, and in whipping up the laggards. In spite of the danger they ran of being picked up by privateers, some were continually getting out of the order of sailing. The Leviathan kept ahead, and led as well as she could, while we did the duty of huntsman, or of whipper-in. One night when it was my watch on deck, as I was keeping a bright look-out in all directions, I saw the flash of a gun on our lee quarter, and the sound directly after reached my ears. It was, it struck me, from a petronel, or some small piece of ordnance such as merchantmen carried in those days. I reported the circumstance to Captain Luttrell, who ordered me at once to make sail in that direction. One or two other shots followed, and I could just discern the flashes of pistols, though the reports did not reach our ears. The night was very dark, but we were able to steer clear of some of the convoy, which had been near us on our lee quarter. I had carefully taken the bearings of the spot where I had seen the flashes. We were not long in getting up to it. There was a large barque under sail, steering somewhat wildly, but still keeping after the fleet. We hailed as we got close to her, but received no answer. A second time we hailed, still louder, but there was no reply. We then fired a shot across her bows, but she stood on as before. On this the captain directed me to take a boat and board her. There was not much sea, but in the wild way in which she was steering about, and in the extreme darkness, this would, I knew, be no very easy matter. However, singing out for volunteers, I soon had eight good hands to man a boat, and away we pulled towards the barque. As we got near I again hailed. As before, there was no reply. At last, watching the proper moment, I pulled in towards her, and hooked on to her mizen-chains. We soon, with lanterns in hand, scrambled on board. As I was hurrying along the deck, I stepped on some substance which very nearly made me measure my length on it. I called to Tom Rockets, who was of course near me, to throw the light of his lantern on the spot. It was blood. There could be no doubt of it. The deck in several places was moist with the same, but yet no one had we seen. Aft there was no one. The helm was lashed amidships, and the ship was left to steer herself. Ordering a hand to the wheel, to keep her close after the Charon, I again traversed the deck to examine her forward. On my way I stumbled over two human forms. The light of the lantern, which fell on their countenances, showed me that they were not Englishmen—dark-bearded, swarthy fellows, dressed in true buccaneer style. I had little doubt that they were pirates, or belonging to the crew of one of the Spanish privateers, most of which deserved no better character. Farther on were two or three English seamen, so they seemed. Here evidently had been a desperate fight, but it was too clear which party had gained the victory. Two other bodies were found locked in a deadly embrace—an English seaman and a Spaniard. One had been endeavouring to force the other overboard. The Spaniard’s knife was sticking in the Englishman’s throat, but the latter had not died till he had strangled his antagonist. A few moments sufficed to reveal this tale of horror. I looked out to endeavour to discern the pirate. I fancied that I could make out the sails of a fore and aft vessel to leeward, but when I looked again I could see nothing of them. I had now to examine the vessel below. I went aft into the cabin. There also had been a desperate struggle. The master apparently had been surprised in his cot, and lay half out of it, stabbed to the heart. Several passengers had sprung out of their berths, it seemed, and been shot or stabbed before they could reach the door of the cabin. The mate, I judged, and two other men, lay in a pool of blood just inside the door. They had retreated there, fighting for their lives. The table and chairs were upset and broken. One of the pirates had fallen, and so hurried had been the retreat of his companions that they had been unable to carry him off. He still breathed when I threw the light of the lantern on his face, but the moment he was moved he fell back and, with a deep groan, died. I marched through the whole of the vessel; not a living soul was found on board. On returning on deck, I again looked out for the pirate—not that I had much hopes of seeing her. All appeared dark to leeward, the Charon’s stern lanterns only being visible just ahead of me. As I was peering into the gloom, suddenly a bright light burst forth, as it seemed, out of the ocean. Up it rose, increasing in size, a vast mass of flame into the air. I could distinguish, with the greatest clearness, the masts and spars and canvas of a schooner, lifting upwards high above the surface of the dark sea. Then they seemed to separate into a thousand fragments, and to fall down in showers of sparks on every side. For a moment I was in doubt whether what I saw was a reality or some hallucination of the mind, such as the imagination of a sleeper conjures up, but from the exclamations I heard around me I was soon convinced that the pirate crew who had effected all the mischief we had witnessed had met with a sudden and just retribution for their crimes, and that they and their vessel had been blown up.
The next morning a midshipman and ten men were sent to relieve me, and to take charge of the barque, which proved to be a vessel bound for Bristol. Sad was the tale she would have to convey to the wives and families of her officers and crew. On the 20th a signal of distress was seen flying on board one of our convoy. A couple of boats were manned, and I pulled away to her assistance. As we got near we saw the crew waving to us, some in the rigging, and some leaning over the sides. Her boats, I concluded, had been knocked to pieces in a gale. At all events none were lowered. The people waved and shouted more vehemently than ever. They had good reason for so doing. I saw by the way that the vessel was labouring, and by her depth in the water, that she was on the point of sinking. Already she had given one or two ominous rolls. I cried out to my men to pull up alongside as fast as they could. We were soon up to her. “Leap, leap!” was the shout. I was afraid that the boats might get foul of some of the rigging, or be drawn into the vortex. Not a moment was to be lost. The merchantman’s crew saw their danger, and threw themselves headlong over the bulwarks. The deck was already almost awash with the sea. Some reached the boats unhurt, others got much bruised, and two poor fellows plunged into the water. One of them sank before we could get hold of him, and the other we had considerable difficulty in saving from the vortex made by the foundering ship.
“Shove off! shove off!” I had to cry out. “Give way—give way, my lads!”
We had barely time to get clear of the vessel before she gave a terrific roll, her stern lifted, and down she went, as if dragged by some invisible power towards the depths of the ocean. We hurried back to the Charon, without attempting to pick up anything, for the weather was coming on bad, and the boats were already as full as they could hold. I could not help remarking how little the men seemed to care for the loss of their ship. Most of them grumbled about losing their bags, but as to any thought of gratitude for their preservation, it did not seem to occur to them that there was any necessity for feeling it. Had no other ship been near, or had their vessel gone down in the night, not one of them would have been saved.